


Time

by ponticle



Series: Black Emporium 2017 [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, New Relationship, Old Friends, Past Relationship(s), Terminal Illnesses, new feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12695847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: When Loghain arrives at court, Maric knows he should send him away, but he can't seem to do it.For Eissa's prompt about what might happen to them in the future, as part of the Black Emporium Exchange. :)





	Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eissa/gifts).



* * *

“Where _is_ she?” hisses Loghain.

Maric tries not to bristle, but he knows he’s failing; he has never been able to hide anything from Loghain.

“Maric!”

“She’s upstairs,” says Maric. “But… she doesn’t want to see you…”

A mask falls over Loghain’s face. Maric watches it descend like a blanket of fog between them. In the years since they agreed to stop speaking, Maric has seen the same thing happen to Rowan every time someone says Loghain’s name. At first, that hurt in some peripheral way—the nearly-healed edges of a long-ago wound. But now, he doesn’t even feel it. So when he looks at that expression etched into the lines of Loghain’s face, he’s _surprised_ at the reaction it nets—something deep, something fresh, something permeating.

“Listen, Loghain…” Maric stands from the throne and crosses the few feet of carpet. He’s trying to look non threatening, but he isn’t sure it’s working. “This isn’t about _us_.”

Loghain raises an eyebrow. Despite all the trials in the last decade, he still looks the same: boyish and brave. His _eyes_ don’t, though—in their centers he looks _sad._

“...and if it were up to me, I’d let you up there… but…” continues Maric lamely.

“But _what_ , Maric?” snaps Loghain. He takes a menacing step forward.

Maric watches two guards straighten almost imperceptibly, readying themselves for something that might turn ugly. Of course, Maric knows it won’t. Loghain, for all his faults, was Maric’s best friend—despite everything, Maric thinks he still _is_.

Maric rolls his eyes and flaps his hands. “I’m fine,” he says, stepping down until he’s right in front of Loghain. “But she said _no_ … and we love her… so we do what she says." It isn’t until this exact moment that his own words register in his head—a truth left unspoken so long that it almost sounds like a lie… but it _isn’t_. They love Rowan— _both_ of them, in different ways.

“Loghain,” Maric says suddenly. His voice comes out high and strained. “Loghain, I’m wrong. We have to see her. _You_ have to see her.”

Loghain looks puzzled, but he doesn’t balk even as Maric grabs his arm and pulls him toward the circuitous hallways and staircases that lead to Rowan’s chambers.  Her chambers are _not_ his—they never have been… and now that he thinks about it, they always knew why. Unspoken truths. Secrets untold. Lives wasted. It’s enough to make him ill. If he weren’t so intent on climbing the stairs, he thinks he would be sick.

“Maric, slow down,” says Loghain. His voice is thick, though, and Maric knows he doesn’t mean it. If anything he means ‘walk faster; this can’t wait.’

* * *

 

“Maric?” calls a thready voice. “What are you—? ” then Rowan stops talking.

“Rowan, I’m sorry,” says Maric. He suddenly realizes he’s still holding onto Loghain's forearm. He drops it and crosses to the edge of her bed. A handmaiden is soaking a rag in medicinal waters. The healers gave up on her weeks ago—there’s nothing to be done but wait.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “But we had to see you…” He looks back at Loghain and blinks. His expression is utterly unreadable, but Maric takes a chance; he gestures for Loghain to approach, which he does—hesitantly.

“Rowan,” he croaks, when he’s within arm’s reach. He doesn’t try to touch her, but the _look_ he gives her is a thousand times deeper than anything Maric has ever mustered.

...except… right now, in this room that smells of death and stinks of sorrow, he thinks he might be experiencing something new—something like… like hope? ...like belief? ...like… _he almost does dare think it_ … like love?

“Rowan, I’m so sorry,” says Loghain. Maric watches them communicate silently across the gulf of linens. And it’s in that moment that he knows—everything has changed. And so no matter what happens… and even in spite of circumstance closing in on them from all sides… they’re _here_.

Maric and Loghain and Rowan speak in hushed whispers and quiet sighs… she coughs and wheezes… but among these myriad sounds emerges one resounding promise: ‘ _in whatever time we have._ ’

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Eissa, it was a pleasure writing for you! :) I hope you like this piece and any others you've gotten in this awesome event. If you'd like to get in touch, feel free to send me an ask on tumblr (@ponticle) or comment here anytime. :)


End file.
